Someone once gave me advice that they had gotten from their professor: do not make any decisions when you have to shit. I'm mentally attributing this story to my high school psychology teacher, but considering it contains the word "shit," that's probably wrong. It could also belong to my graduate Classics professor, which sounds a bit more appropriate, but regardless, the point is that you should make decisions with a clear head and not distracted by other impulses--namely, the desire to get something taken care of quickly so you can go and shit. It's really the same thing as "sleep on it" or "let's table this."
I table a lot of things. Sometimes, I write a post and publish it immediately. Other times, I leave it in the draft folder for a day and reread it before hitting publish. There are also the posts that languish in the draft folder until they are posted long after the fact or deleted (such as the Chinese New Year post from last year lovingly titled "Come on Pig, Light My Fire"). This is one of those posts that I found Friday night. It was written a few weeks ago in between bouts of drunk emailing Lindsay. I was half asleep by the time I finished this post and only semi-coherent.
Why am I posting it now? I don't know. It was tottering between delete and post, similar to the Manifesto several months ago. We are currently trying to make a decision and I guess posting this is a form of shitting so I can approach things with a clear mind. Who really knows why we get these impulses to hit publish or delete. Children are mentioned at the very end for those who like a heads up about these sorts of things.
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that an infertile woman living in a townhouse, must turn to alcohol when frustrated. If I lived in the farmhouse-of-my-dreams, I would have a good scream. I would maybe even break a few things--throw the telephone, shatter some pottery, smash the $4 glasses from Crate and Barrel.
But I live in a townhouse so I have to raid my lady-when-waiting's vanilla vodka from the freezer. I'm sorry, sweetie. I'll replace it before your next visit.
It is really frustrating to have to go to the clinic to have someone else knock you up when everyone else gets pregnant at home. I know--I'm preaching to the choir and this isn't really earth-shattering. I doubt you'll walk away from this post shaking your head and saying, "by fuck, I never thought of that before." But it bears repeating anyway. And I also know that there are plenty of other situations that are "worse" than infertility. But, this is what I have on my plate and this is why I'm having J's vodka tonight so... And really, don't we live in a world where we can all recognize that we each have our own unique suckage and my suckage doesn't detract from the gravity of your suckage? Can we not engage in comparative suckage? I will recognize yours if you will recognize mine. Fair?
It really sucks to have to go to the clinic. It really sucks not to be able to conceive at home. It really sucks to want to have a child and not know whether or not that will happen. It really sucks that each cycle is as long as it is so that you only get so many chances a year. It really sucks that fertility takes a nose-dive at 35. It really sucks that there isn't a simple solution even though people act as if there is a simple solution. It really sucks that other people know more about my hoohaahooterus than I do at this moment in time and my hoohaahooterus is part of my body. And it really sucks that Our Bodies, Our Selves made me believe that I could really take charge of my reproductive health and know my vagina inside and out. I know my vagina better than I know spelling (and I think I'm a decent speller. Maybe not spelling bee material, but a decent speller nonetheless) but knowing every bit of information about my vagina and hormone levels and cervical mucous has done jack-shit to actually get me pregnant nor has it helped me hold on to a pregnancy.
It really sucks to be getting drunk while writing a blog post about not getting pregnant when all you want to do is have an excuse why you can't drink for 9 months. It really sucks to have People magazine ironically left open to the story on 16-year-old Jamie Lynn Spear's pregnancy. It really sucks to have to retell your reproductive history again and again and again to every person who works in the clinic. It really sucks to have people apologize who shouldn't be apologizing--they should just be doing what they said they would do. It really sucks that offices close down at night, right when I'm having my nervous breakdown and need to speak to someone.
It really sucks to not know if I'll get what I want. It really sucks to work really hard and have nothing to show for it. It really sucks to not be able to keep my thoughts straight because I'm getting progressively sloppier (sloppier--is that a word?) as I write this post because I'm about to go on to another drink. It really sucks to be taught that if I try really hard, I can succeed at anything. It really sucks that I once believed that. It really sucks that I don't believe it anymore. It really sucks that if I'm not careful, I won't teach hope to my kids. It really sucks if I do that to them.
It really sucks to have blood drawn so often and a camera stuck inside my vagina and an injections class and saline sonogram on the calendar. It really sucks that other people are thinking about when they want to have a child and I have to think about if I will get to have a child. It really sucks that I'm spending this much of my evening upset about this; letting it eat me up when I have three thousand other things I need to be doing. It really sucks that it seems to be a common refrain.
Aaah, perhaps the fact that I can't remember what I wanted to write next should be my cue that it's time to tie this up. I will say this about secondary IF after primary IF, I have never felt needier and more pathetic than when I just slinked into their room after washing my face and scooped them out of their cribs to crawl into the rocking chair, throwing out excuses that I'm doing it because they're not going to bed and they need to calm down with a cuddle. And I have never felt like a bigger ass still crying about infertility when I finally have children and I know that the primary IF me would have wanted to kick my ass for bitching. But the primary me could have never known that secondary IF hurts just as much and is just as precarious and sucks just as hard.
It really sucks to learn lessons.